


to grant the wayfarers rest

by litteringfire (heartrapier)



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Attempt at Humor, Gen, sakuma is long-suffering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartrapier/pseuds/litteringfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the school counselor means Yuuki is used to dealing with the students' various shenanigans to the point of boredom, but even he has to find the second-years in particular to be rather <i>interesting</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the bird watching club

**Author's Note:**

> the inevitable highschool au for the need to have everyone alive and, you know, _not dead_. written for lee, who im glad has encouraged me into doing this
> 
> this will be a collection of short fics, non-linear.

The bird watching club lacking members is a history Tazaki knows well, being the sole founder during his freshman days. That’s why, when two of his classmates offered their names for the club’s formation, Tazaki had been extremely thankful. Afterwards, one of them had managed to drag two other kids from another class, completing the required member roster, and Tazaki _knows_ he no longer owes them only one, but several.

And now it’s the club’s first anniversary; Tazaki contemplates about firing them all.

To be fair, Tazaki has indeed agreed to allow Amari and Odagiri whatever freedom within the club as long as they’re willing to become ghost members for their entire three years, after all, so he’s found it hard to simply _complain_.

“You’re exaggerating,” Amari says, laughing beyond his quick-typing, phone dangling in front of a smug smile, “Kaminaga mistook the trash one time.”

“It was non-combustible trash day,” Tazaki whispers, but really, he can’t bring himself to continue glaring at Kaminaga, who is not looking at all guilty but instead whistling along with each tap of sticker he sends in reply to someone (or more? There’s too much tapping right there for one single person, unless he is spamming).

“Now, now, at least he admitted his mistake?” Odagiri, ever the mediator, although sporadically at best, says, seated almost too stiffly to be comfortable, leaning on one side to scratch the chin of a parrot.

“That’s right,” Kaminaga hums, as if he has the right to say so, seeing as he didn’t notice as much as actually forgetting the day for his club duty, leaving Tazaki to take care of what he’d left behind.

In hindsight, it might have been for the better. Tazaki sighs in remembrance of a time in the past where he had trusted Kaminaga to purchase some bird food and the boy came back with the petshop girl’s number.

“All of you,” Tazaki begins, softly, “I’ll do all the work around here.”

In one corner, Hatano raises an eyebrow, glancing up from his DS. He drawls, amused, “Don’t you always?”

Tazaki shakes his head in agreement, and wonders when he can get it through their thick skulls that it also means he wants them out of the clubroom.

(They all get the signals, really, but not one of them sees the point of answering. Not when they have such an advantageous hideout to run to whenever convenient.)


	2. the school counselor and the student council president

“Can I,” Sakuma pauses to breathe, shoulders slacking into place on his sides, “can I request a meeting with the school counselor?”

Yuuki fixes the student council president with a blank look before responding with a brief “why?”

“At the rate I’m going, I may end up losing my position to my temper,” Sakuma says, and because it’s in his character to be direct, he clarifies: “Hatano and Miyoshi have been coming into the student council room to taunt me.”

Crossing his arms, Yuuki spins on his swivel chair to regard him fully. “I’d thought you better than some youngsters’ childish games.”

Sakuma draws in a long breath. “They’re bothering me.”

Eyebrow going up into his hairline, Yuuki’s questioning gaze can almost burn.

“It’s not that I can’t handle them, because I can, and my Miyoshi-exclusive ban in the student council room has been working spectacularly so far.” Sakuma tries to explain, “By so far, I meant to say today. The last time I did something similar, he got around it in a couple of hours,” he fumbles at his next words, and resorts to a weakly growled “ _I just want to rant_.”

The nod Yuuki gives next is sprinkled with veiled amusement and interest. “I see. My schedule is free after lunch today.”

Sakuma’s sigh is extra relieved, hand pressed on his chest as if his previous burden has been partly lifted. “ _Thank you_."


	3. culinary club's fukumoto

Fukumoto folds his apron away with graceful haste, jogging out of the culinary clubroom with a number of plastic bags in hand. Making his first stop at classroom 2-A, Fukumoto waits by the threshold for Tazaki to approach him.

“Hey, Fukumoto. What is it today?” Tazaki asks, pressed against the sliding door, shifting through the content of one plastic bag noiselessly, “Ah, the classic choco chips, I see.”

“It’s smaller than usual, sorry,” Fukumoto says, “I ran out of flour.”

Tazaki laughs, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You should stop spoiling us with free sweets everyday, you know. We’ll get dependent on you.”

“It serves as daily practice.” A small smile gracing his face, Fukumoto chuckles, “Do you want me to stop?”

At first pretending to make a show of thinking very long and very deeply, and Tazaki says, lips crooked into a smirk, “Not really.”

He spins on his heels and calls out for Amari and Odagiri, who wave in fixed rhythm at Fukumoto and mouth their thanks as per usual.

Sakuma bumps into him in the middle of exiting the classroom next door, and Fukumoto lingers longer on the floor as the student council president massages at the bridge of his nose and grumbles into a litany consisting of a disturbing amount of recognizable names.

“Did Miyoshi come by again?” Fukumoto asks, patting him on the back by reflex.

Sakuma groans. “Not yet, but I fear he will, in a bit.”

Fukumoto nods mournfully. He reaches to grab two plastic bags and hands it into Sakuma’s open palm with the sort of ease reserved to a man used to dealing with a huge variety of people. “Eat some. It’ll give you some energy to deal with him.”

Sakuma glances down at the cookies and looks up at Fukumoto with a hard stare. “I appreciate it.”

Fukumoto sees him off in sympathy.

In the next classroom, Kaminaga makes a grabbing motion at the snacks with close to no shame, while Hatano slips a pair of slick fingers into one plastic bag, and there is one cookie between his teeth in the next second.

“Don’t tease the president so much.” Fukumoto says to Miyoshi, by proxy of Hatano, who then gives him a lidded gaze that can be translated to mean _you know that’s not going to stop him, right?_

Fukumoto shrugs. He’s expected as much, but at least he’s given it a try.

“Well, give this to Miyoshi when you see him next, then,” Fukumoto says, tossing the rest of his stuff into Kaminaga’s arms. “I think I forgot to turn off the oven.”


	4. the newspaper club

Miyoshi and Jitsui are what people would call partners in crime. They don’t make a point of putting Sakuma through hell daily, since that’s a mission for only Miyoshi and Hatano, and they don’t leer at Gamou-sensei while cracking their fists because that’s something special shared between only Jitsui and Yuuki-sensei. (Although Yuuki is wont to insist he has no hands whatsoever in that one accident involving Gamou, a dark street corner, and Jitsui’s motorbike a month ago, which has led Gamou to believe the second-year is leading a back-alley gang.)

No, Miyoshi and Jitsui are partners in the gossiping sense.

That is to say, they belong to the school’s newspaper club.

“I’ve been saying,” Miyoshi clicks his tongue, skimming through albums containing past paper articles, “everyone wants to know Amari’s family tree. Everyone wants to know where Emma comes from.”

Jitsui raises his hands in mock-surrender. “I admit, you’re not wrong. But also, the last time we did a coverage on Amari’s love life, there ended up being an inter-school war _and_ an auction for Amari’s affection.”

Miyoshi gives a slight wince, near nonexistent. “Right.”

“And we are definitely not publishing another article about how our student council president regularly lifts after school, so,” Jitsui dismisses the familiar twitch in Miyoshi’s smile, “we have nothing.”

“He regularly lifts _and_ swims,” Miyoshi says, matter-of-factly, “but yes. There’s nothing to write about this week.”

Jitsui scrunches his nose in thought. “And we are not resorting to taking Kaminaga’s advice on a dating tips column.”

Miyoshi sighs. “I guess it’ll be Fukumoto’s cooking recipes again?”

Giving a similarly short, heartless sigh, Jitsui agrees, “Fukumoto’s cooking recipes again.”


	5. emma (and the bird watching club)

"Say hi to Emma," Amari says, beaming, a literal baby deposited in his embrace, leant on his broad chest.

Kaminaga drops a whole package of bird food pellets on the floor; Tazaki barely registers the scattered mess in favor of blinking rapidly. Hatano's game is stopped halfway, his following loss inevitable, and Odagiri merely freezes in the middle of sipping his tea.

Amari boos, cradling the young child in his arms, "What bad uncles, right, Emma? They can't even say hi properly."

The baby giggles, pawing at Amari's face with chubby hands.

"That's right," Amari makes kissing noises, and Kaminaga feels shivers climb up his spine with _wrongness_. Because even there _are_ some things a flirt like Amari would not let himself be found doing.

"Amari." Odagiri, calm and composed as always, an immovable object, braves himself enough to ask, "Who is she?"

Amari grins, a look utterly fond and proud on his face as he says, "Emma is family."

"Okay. But. Sister? Cousin? Niece?" Kaminaga seems to have difficulty breathing. " _Daughter_?"

Amari laughs – _the goddamn menace_ – waves him off, "Don't be silly," and answers nothing.


	6. before the school festival

Sakuma squints at the paperwork shoved in front of his eyes. He is barely holding the paper, because Miyoshi lifts it for him, anyway, and Tazaki is near enough that he is practically printing the paper against Sakuma’s pain-laden face.

“I can’t read this close.” Sakuma whispers. There is a faint exhaustion in his undertone.

“You see, President,” Tazaki stands back, arms eagle-spread, body spun just slightly to give the impression of a dance.

Sakuma eyes him warily; because while he _is_ the student council president, he is never quite able to trust anyone actually using his title during a conversation. Experiences prove that there is some hidden agenda behind those sweet intonations.

“Please allow me to hold a magic show for the school festival!” Tazaki declares, eyes sparkling, fists clenched. He is the very image of enthusiasm, dramatics.

“Tazaki is very proficient in the working of tricks,” Miyoshi says from Sakuma’s left, leant on the side of the president’s chair, half-seated on the table, one leg crossed over another, one arm holding himself up and their uniform sleeves brushing. “So am I, but with different sort of,” he licks his lips there, as if to emphasize a point his seductive voice hasn’t done well enough, “ _tricks_.”

Sakuma looks straight ahead at Tazaki, falling into his default setting, which consists of strongly trying to ignore Miyoshi’s presence. “I’d thought the bird watching club would hold an event with more relevance to...birds.”

Tazaki waves a finger and clicks his tongue, a half-grin plastered on his ever bright complexion. “You forgot, President, that there are birds involved in magic tricks,” he reaches into his uniform jacket, and pulls a living, wings-flapping pigeon out of a seemingly flat interior pocket.

Sakuma stares, and proceeds to sigh. “Tazaki–”

“Sakuma-san, every time you sigh, some of your good luck is lost, you know,” Miyoshi chides.

“ _Tazaki_ ,” Sakuma says it louder this time, “your proposal needs guarantee that no animals will be harmed during your show. Otherwise, it’s a fine idea.”

Tazaki winks, tosses a card that lands right between two of Sakuma’s fingers, slicing into the wooden material of the table. “I knew you would understand, President.”

Sakuma has a constant headache that worsens whenever any of the students do something as reckless as harm a school’s property and/or endanger someone’s life, like now. He resists the urge to punch at his own nose, and says, “Now get out and revise that proposal before I give you a detention for bringing your pet inside the school building.”


	7. afterschool

Making a slow, silent stride towards the culinary clubroom, Odagiri weighs his bag on his shoulder, expression set in stone as he enters, sliding the door open without a hint of a sound.

“Fukumoto,” he says by way of greeting; his friend jolts by the stove, but quickly conceals his surprise. Odagiri observes the still-tied apron and the fizzing sparks by the pan, and says, flatly, “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

Looking fairly guilty, Fukumoto gesticulates at a lineup of uncooked croquettes, “Took longer than expected.”

Odagiri furrows his eyebrows, “Who requested that, now?” His _Tazaki and Kaminaga usually asked for sweets, after all, while others just accepted whatever you would cook up. Who would specifically ask for croquettes?_ is unsaid, but Fukumoto understands him all the same.

“It’s Jitsui,” Fukumoto answers, “the newspaper club is going on a trip, and he wants some bento for the road.”

Staring at his friend, who is flipping food over the oil with expertise not unlike a professional, Odagiri lets out a long heave, “You’re spoiling them too much.”

Fukumoto gives a sheepish smile, but otherwise he says nothing, and lets Odagiri fix him with a level glare that soon dissipates into boredom.

Odagiri sighs, resigned. “How much longer?”

He doesn’t say, _it’s going to rain if we wait any longer to go home_ , but lifts his chin at the open windows, at the gathering dark clouds.

Fukumoto merely nods, and gets to working on the rest of his cooking.


	8. afterschool (2)

“Hey, pretty-boy,” Hatano jumps in front of Jitsui, grinning indecently.

Jitsui is not even the slightest bit surprised, stood still as he adjusts the pressure of books in his arms. “Hello to you too, pretty-boy.”

Hatano hums, skipping as he walks alongside his classmate, arms lifted and linked behind his head. “Going home?”

“Of course,” Jitsui nods, his calm expression the complete opposite of Hatano’s teethy one. “School has ended, after all.”

Hatano’s teeth look almost murderous, with the way he keeps exposing them, white and gleaming against light. “Sure you’re not off terrorizing our beloved Gamou-sensei?”

“Oh, Hatano,” Jitsui’s voice and smile are sickly sweet, cannot be trusted, “you are so funny.”

“Obviously I am,” Hatano agrees, his voice as sweet but smile more knife-like, “but I think you are way funnier than I am, Jitsui-kun.”

Jitsui raises an eyebrow, the very action a mocking one, and asks, “How so?”

“I decoded that last week’s article of yours,” sings Hatano, throwing an arm around Jitsui’s neck, their cheeks a hairsbreadth away. “ _You fox_.”

The whisper must have tickled Jitsui, because the boy laughs gently onto a fist, almost doubling over on the sidewalk. “Oh, Hatano- _kun_. Do explain.”

Hatano makes a show of bowing. “With pleasure,” he says, winking. “You wrote a godforsaken morse code on the article. By using the word length.”

Jitsui’s amusement is vibrating off his shoulders. “Oh, you must kid, Hatano- _kun_.” he says, tone resembling a giggle, “Who has that much time?”

“Knowing you, it’d take no time at all,” Hatano says. “But that was rather, what do people refer to it these days, _savage_? of you, Jitsui-kun.”

Jitsui’s gaze challenges him to continue; of course Hatano takes it up with delight.

“ _Gamou-sensei has a bald spot beside his right sideburn_.” Hatano says this, breathing in gasps of laughter, hand on stomach, “Proper grammar and all, too. You monster.”

“I think,” Jitsui’s calm is half-vanished in an increasing volume of giggle, “the word you’re looking for is _genius_.”

Hatano shakes his head, sighing wistfully, “Poor Gamou-sensei.”

“Have you decoded this week’s article yet?” Jitsui says, and immediately Hatano’s head snaps upward with such force that should have given him whiplash.

“Oh, you _fox_.”

Jitsui waves him goodbye, saccharine smile endlessly beaming. “If you managed to solve it, you can join in on the action.”

“Pity him for a bit, why don’t you?” Hatano laugh-shouts by way of farewell, but there is no heart whatsoever in the way he says it.


	9. emma and the culinary club

Fukumoto lets out a long breath. "Amari, I'm sure you are aware the culinary club isn't a childcare?"

"I'm well aware, worry not," Amari says, but still he proceeds to rub at Emma's scalp lovingly, the baby herself laid on a soft pile of fabric spread across the marble counter. "It's just, you know, the right temperature here. And there's hot water to make milk."

"Isn't there anyone at home to take care of her?" Fukumoto asks, just for the sake of it, dabbling with a powdery dough on the side.

Amari whistles, "She's my responsibility, anyway."

Raising an eyebrow, Fukumoto gives a sideway glance at the baby, now giving a light snore as she slumbers. "I see," when he doesn't see, really, but he doesn’t ask about the baby's identity either. There is no shortage of people asking the same question, and Amari still hasn't managed to explain anything within the same week.

"Fuku--"

"Well, it's very considerate of you to hide her from the president," Fukumoto says, inadvertently cutting off the person who has just entered the clubroom, "he’s stressed enough as it is."

Hatano's grin widens from the doorway, the setting sun shining ominously from the row of windows behind him.


	10. childhood friends

“You know,” Kaminaga says, falling into place on the chair across Miyoshi’s, his legs draped over another table on the side. The student seated there yelps, but refrains from complaining when Kaminaga glances at him with his Handsome Boy™ face, instead pulling his arms inward in embarrassment.

Miyoshi whistles. While Kaminaga and Amari are both hailed as the school’s most infamous playboys, they are different sorts of flirt. Kaminaga’s strongest asset is his face, which he uses freely (and sometimes unconsciously). Miyoshi vaguely remembers one of the teachers in their freshman year who used to swoon whenever Kaminaga made to answer his question in class.

“You know,” Kaminaga repeats, for emphasis, “I think I want to be a host.”

“Oh?” Miyoshi recognises this moment as one of many; a couple of years ago, Kaminaga had done similar things to say he wanted to become a model, and years before that, an actor.

Then again, the first time Kaminaga had said he wanted to become anything, they were both six, and it was more of a proposal than a future career prospect.

“Being a host is the perfect job for me,” Kaminaga goes on to explain, “I have all the assets, as you can see.” Miyoshi applauds for confirmation. “And if all a host should do is please all the customers with my sweet looks and smooth words, then I should already qualify as a professional by now.”

“Then,” Miyoshi has never sounded not amused, but there is a lot more gladness in his tone right then, and his fingers are rhythmically tapping on his cheek, “I guess I should become rich enough to designate you and order Dom Pérignon on regular visits.”

Kaminaga beams at him, childishly and nostalgic.


	11. emma and the student council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tivanny did [an amazing art of amari and emma together](http://tivanny2292.tumblr.com/post/149412252796/for-yuuichika-based-on-her-super-cute-fic)! this is the cutest thing i've ever laid eyes on, thank you!

It's already a routine by now that Sakuma greets Miyoshi's entrance into the student council room with a groaned "what do you want?"

"What a warm welcome, Sakuma-san," Miyoshi slides down the room, circling the president's table to rest on one side of Sakuma's chair, a whole length of arm slipping down into the gap between the two of them.

"What are you doing here?" Sakuma asks, a broken record whenever Miyoshi is involved.

Miyoshi smiles, shiftily and eternal, says, "As moral support," and grips Sakuma's shoulder with his nails as Amari enters the room.

Sakuma’s eyesight burns at the sight of a baby sucking on her own thumb in Amari’s cradle.

“Amari, what–” he may as well have choked on the spot. Miyoshi’s grip is what keeps him seated.

Amari laughs, although a tad guiltily, if the way he refuses to meet Sakuma’s gaze is any indication. “Hatano made me do this, so don’t entirely blame me, but. _The point is_ , President, meet Emma.”

“She is,” Sakuma wheezes, “she is. She is not. She is not Japanese, is she. Amari, where did you kidnap her. Is she your sister? Is she, is she _not_. Or wait. Is she your daughter? Did you get someone pregnant?” At this, his glare focuses in a way that reminds them of Yuuki-sensei when unimpressed. “Amari, did you ever have sex on school ground?”

“Haha, President, your imagination needs more work,” Amari says heartily, as if Sakuma isn’t on the verge of writing his name for suspension, with only Miyoshi to hold him back. “Emma is family, you see. And honestly, saying such vulgar things in front of an impressionable child? Shame on you, President.”

“Amari,” Sakuma’s voice has gotten heavier, more threatening, “have you ever. Performed. Intercourse–”

“Well!” Amari interrupts, movement giddy as he gestures at Miyoshi, “You’ve surely also been taught about the birds and the bees, President. But if you need more information, I’m convinced Miyoshi can provide them for you.”

Miyoshi takes this chance to lean down and whisper on Sakuma’s ear. “ _Hands-on_.”

Sakuma shivers, coughs once to stabilise his voice, “Amari. Get back here.”

“No way,” Amari says, pouts playfully, and flees the student council room. The baby is awake now, giggling as she bounces softly against Amari’s loose uniform tie.

“Miyoshi,” Sakuma almost sounds desperate, but there is still not enough courage in himself to give in and turn around to meet Miyoshi’s eyes, “what’s his deal?”

Shrugging flamboyantly, elegantly, managing to adopt a flawless position that accentuates his best parts (which are, technically, every part of him), Miyoshi huffs, “Trust me, Sakuma-san, I’d tell you if I knew.”


End file.
